MORUS. Sweet man! By my troth, master, I love you; will you love me too, for my aunt's sake? I'll wait well, you shall see. I'll still be here. Would I might never stir, but you are a fine man in these clothes; master, shall I have them when you have done with them? ASO. As for that, Morus, thou shalt see more hereafter; in the mean time, by this air, or by this feather, I'll do as much for thee, as any gallant shall do for his page, whatsoever, in this court, corner of the world, or kingdom. [EXEUNT ALL BUT THE PAGES.] MER. I wonder this gentleman should affect to keep a fool: methinks he makes sport enough with himself. CUP. Well, Prosaites, 'twere good you did wait closer. PRO. Ay, I'll look to it; 'tis time. COS. The revels would have been most sumptuous to-night, if they had gone forward. [EXIT.] MER. They must needs, when all the choicest singularities of the court were up in pantofles; ne'er a one of them but was able to make a whole show of itself. ASO. [WITHIN.] Sirrah, a torch, a torch! PRO. O, what a call is there! I will have a canzonet made, with nothing in it but sirrah; and the burthen shall be, I come. [EXIT.] MER. How now, Cupid, how do you like this change? CUP. Faith, the thread of my device is crack'd, I may go sleep till the revelling music awake me. MER. And then, too, Cupid, without you had prevented the fountain. Alas, poor god, that remembers not self-love to be proof against the violence of his quiver! Well, I have a plot against these prizers, for which I must presently find out Crites, and with his assistance pursue it to a high strain of laughter, or Mercury hath lost of his metal. [EXEUNT.] ACT V SCENE I.--THE SAME. ENTER MERCURY AND CRITES. MER. It is resolved on, Crites, you must do it. CRI. The grace divinest Mercury hath done me, In this vouchsafed discovery of himself, Binds my observance in the utmost term Of satisfaction to his godly will: Though I profess, without the affectation Of an enforced and form'd austerity, I could be willing to enjoy no place With so unequal natures. MER. We believe it. But for our sake, and to inflict just pains On their prodigious follies, aid us now: No man is presently made bad with ill. And good men, like the sea, should still maintain Their noble taste, in midst of all fresh humours That flow about them, to corrupt their streams, Bearing no season, much less salt of goodness. It is our purpose, Crites, to correct, And punish, with our laughter, this night's sport, Which our court-dors so heartily intend: And by that worthy scorn, to make them know How far beneath the dignity of man Their serious and most practised actions are.